C’EST MOI:

I'm an atheist, anarchist writer. Angels, demons, gods and aliens are interchangeable here. I'm self-governed only by freedom of speech, as defined by Amnesty as a human right. I write fiction and non-fiction, under my own name and as a freelance copywriter and ghostwriter. I'm also an alcoholic with chronic depression.
I'm a regular contributor of short fiction to a webzine and I've had over 50 stories published online and in print. I've published two novels, two anthologies and an award-winning children's book. I'm working on other books and I continue to write short stories for a third collection.
The rest is contained within this blog, where I wear my heart on my left hand and tell it as it is, or how I see things.

Filing cabinet:

Previously:

Repetitive Strain Syndrome:

Something for the Weekend?

02.05.15 (Day 496 / 53)

14.42

Something for the weekend, sir? A question traditionally asked by one’s barber, post-haircut, as to whether sir was expecting sexual intercourse to occur over sir’s weekend and therefore would sir require any condoms.

What I need this weekend is simply, Patience, Time, Space and a Do-not-disturb sign on my door: the alternative PTSD, while I deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

As I’ve said before, the diagnosis came as a bit of a surprise but now that I have time to contemplate all that went on to bring me here, it’s traumatic just looking back. I rarely get time alone here, such is the nature of living in a pub but it’s time alone which I need to fully come to terms with things. Read back over this blog and it’s all recorded: that’s quite a lot of trauma to deal with. I need to deal with it on my own.

I appreciate that people who mean well are concerned for me; that they want to help me, to see me, to make sure I’m okay. I am okay, on my own. Just for now. I feel guilty that I’m excluding people who genuinely care but those who really understand me should also understand that I am best left alone. They can’t work me out any more than I’m able to work out myself, so I need time this weekend to get to know myself, unpleasant though that person I’m getting to know can sometimes seem. I don’t mean it. Read my recent post on depression and understand that I don’t mean to be hurtful by excluding people. I’m not very good company at the moment and it’s gratifying that people who care persist, simply because they care. But to really show they care, even my nearest and dearest need to leave me alone sometimes. They’ll fret about me but they must know that I’m okay.

I can’t make plans at the moment. I can’t say that I’ll be anywhere other than where I am at a particular time. I don’t want anyone to put their lives on hold for me, nor think that I’m calling the shots but to understand me, you have to bear with me. I’ll be back and you’ll still be very important parts of my life. But I need to do things when I’m ready and not feel pressured into doing something which I may not want to but am too polite to say so.

I have many things to be grateful for and lots to look forward to. The main things at this particular moment are all the girls around me in my life: my two best friends, who are taking me to see Les Miserables on my birthday. Before that, we are being joined by the love of my once upon a time for lunch in the West End. Afterwards, I’m meeting my fold-up daughter. She was here yesterday. I chose to see her on a whim, not pre-arranged. She was just what I needed. I spoke to the other little one last night and that helped because she needs help. I like to help and I know that others do too. They want to help me but at the moment, I just need to help myself.

Having received a very big thumbs up from the eldest daughter on Bloodstained Knaves, this weekend’s self-imposed solitude will be largely spent writing my next book. Tomorrow I’m published again in Schlock magazine and they’re running an author feature on me to promote The Paradoxicon. Besides writing, I shall bury myself in The Guardian and Observer newspapers, as I do every weekend. I’ll watch the snooker on TV, listen to music – I Megaphone by Imogen Heap arrived today – watch TV, maybe venture into the bar downstairs to play pool. On a whim. So I have things to be happy about and I’m okay, so don’t worry.

It’s all about these things at the moment:

P: poker, pool, papers.
T: time, spent alone.
S. space, solitude, snooker, smoking.
D: dedication, to myself and to others who this post is for. And drinking but in managed quantities: don’t worry.